Title: Just Baseball
Rating: M
Summary: "Shut up, Castle. This will work better for me if you don't talk."
Notes: It's rated M for a reason. If you don't like adult situations, click the 'back' button.
XxX
Rick Castle had blacked out a few times in his life. Truth be told, it may have been more than a few. But afterwards he'd always been able to piece together the series of events that led to the said blackout. This time though, he was drawing a blank. Try as he might, he had no idea how he came to be sitting in Beckett's squad room with his pants pooled around his ankles. He frowned in concentration and willed the answer to come to him. He was still frowning when he felt a warm breath float across his bare thighs and he realised that his momentary (he hoped) memory lapse was the least of his problems because Beckett was going to kill him.
He was sitting bare-assed naked (almost; he still had his shirt on, although it was unbuttoned and . . . was that a tear?) at her desk and some strange woman in a trench coat was about to give him a blow job. Beckett was going to kill him slowly and painfully, and then she was going to dump his body in landfill because there was no way she would ever, ever forgive him for this.
He looked down at the head poised over his . . .ahem . . . over him, and made a futile attempt to divert her attention. "Listen, I'm sure you're great and all, but this really isn't –"
And then the woman looked up and he forgot his own name, because it was Beckett, and she was wearing a trench coat (a fucking trench coat, and how the hell she knew that was a secret fantasy of his was beyond him) and she'd painted her lips the most brilliant shade of red he'd ever seen, and they were moist and pouty and about to do things to him that he'd only dreamed of, and did he mention it was Beckett?
"You have no idea," she murmured, "But you're about to."
He blinked, because she sure looked like Beckett (in a hot, salacious kind of way that he decided he really, really could get used to) and she even sounded like Beckett (kind of; her voice had some sort of husky tone to it that made him wonder what it would sound like screaming his name), but obviously when he blacked out New York had been invaded and she had been taken over by one of the slutty pod people, because the Beckett he knew didn't even own a trench coat. And also, he was pretty sure that blow jobs were not an activity that they typically indulged in together. Not that he wasn't eager to expand the bounds of their friendship, but until this moment she'd never displayed the slightest interest in . . . well, him. And now here she was, on her knees in front of him, and he only had one question on his mind.
"You naked under there?"
She smiled, and it melted his bones. "What do you think?"
Maybe it was the red lips. Maybe it was the trench coat. Maybe it was her nakedness under the trench coat. And maybe it was the fact that her hands had started lightly dancing their way up his thighs, but she made the transition from Beckett, professional, hard-ass detective to Kate, sexy-as-hell vixen, in a nano-second. Beckett wouldn't behave like this, but Kate might. And if Kate wanted to play with him, who was he to deny her? Even if she was one of the pod people now.
Her fingers were now centimetres from their intended goal and as much as he wanted them to achieve victory, a small part of his brain was still functional enough to want indulge in a little pre-foreplay foreplay.
"Soooo . . ." he began, and then stopped as she slowly licked her lips; those red, luscious lips that he couldn't stop fixating on and ordered, "Shut up, Castle. This will work better for me if you don't talk."
He shut up, because when a hot woman ordered you to do something, you damn well did it. Her fingers crept higher and his hips bucked, and Kate looked at him from under her lashes and said,
"Don't squirm, Rick, I promise this won't hurt a bit."
He was stunned. He loved this new pod-Kate.
"Unless you want it to," she purred, and who knew she could do that?
"You're killing me," he groaned.
"Not yet," she replied.
And then there was contact; warm, wet, contact, and the words – and everything else – disappeared. His nails dug into the arms of the chair as she did something with her tongue that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and then he grunted and moaned as she repositioned herself between his legs and did something else that he was pretty sure was illegal. It had never been this good. Well, maybe it had, but seeing as though he could barely remember to breathe at the moment, his brain wasn't in any shape to dredge up his previous oral encounters and compare them to this one. Besides, this was Beckett. No, he corrected himself, it was Kate. And Kate was a naughty, naughty girl.
He groaned and tried to control his breathing. Sweet Jesus, who'd have thought she would be so skilled? Every nerve in his body was on red alert. He had to force himself to stay seated, but at the same time he was dimly aware that his legs probably wouldn't work anyway. She had him totally, completely, at her mercy, and there was nowhere in the world that he'd rather be.
He squirmed as the pressure built to a boiling point, and he knew it wouldn't be long now. He had a fleeting thought of telling her to stop, of giving her the option of finishing what she had started with her hand . . .
. . . Castle?
. . . because that would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but then he felt his body tense and he closed his eyes tightly, and the opportunity was lost. White spots began dancing behind his lids . . .
. . . Castle?
. . . . and his head swam dizzyingly as he tried to concentrate on baseball or opera or something to prolong the experience, because he was vaguely aware that after the pod people left, that it would probably never happen again, and then . . .
"Castle! Are you drooling on my desk?"
. . . it was all over and he was left feeling strangely unsatisfied.
He opened his eyes to find a bemused Beckett studying at him. "Huh? What?"
"You did. You drooled on my desk."
"I did?" To his dismay he was fully clothed, there wasn't a trench coat in sight and Kate had transformed back to Beckett.
"What were you dreaming about?"
He thought about semi-naked Kate; her mouth, tongue, hands, all totally fixated on him and grinned. He wondered if he could persuade her to buy a trench coat. "Oh, nothing. Just baseball."
End.